


Three is Company

by loopsfromafountainpen



Series: Return of the Dragonborn [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: AU backstory, Adopted Children, Brief violence/ language, Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 19:22:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15444078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loopsfromafountainpen/pseuds/loopsfromafountainpen
Summary: In the aftermath of a bandit attack, Erandur’s life takes an unexpected turn.





	Three is Company

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Thank you so much for reading my first foray into the Skyrim fandom! This is a prequel to a novelization that I'm currently writing, but until that's ready to go, there'll be a couple more one-shots and maybe some chapter excerpts. I started playing the game about a month ago, and I have absolutely fallen in love with Erandur’s character and his interactions with the Dragonborn. This series is really born from an AU my sister and I came up with. We always say that Erandur acts like such a dad to our dragonborns, so I just decided to take that idea and run with it.

Brother Erandur pulled his cloak tighter as the cold Sun’s Dusk wind whipped around him and trudged through the snow-dusted tall grass as Brother Stebal Windcaller trekked, almost gleefully, ahead of him; he was torn between outright laughing and cursing the nord’s affinity for cold weather. Azura curse these mountain roads! The two priests had followed them just fine to Helgen, so surely the trip back wouldn’t be hard. It just had to start snowing, didn’t it? The snow had made it too easy for the priests of Mara to get lost. From that moment, the Imperial road quickly became an unpaved cattle-track, and then a barely-discernable footpath. Now they were stuck following cairns.

“Keep up, Erandur!” Stebal called, glancing behind him. He paused and allowed his Dunmer companion to catch up to him. He’d never let Erandur know it, but the wind had begun to cut into him like little pinpricks through his cloak. The Nord chuckled, “If these old bones can keep this pace—”

“Don’t bring age into this,” Erandur countered jokingly, “Why, when I was your age…”

“You were still a babe in the cradle?” Stebal finished with a grin. Erandur shook his head. He took the chance to shake the loose snowflakes from his hood and breathed a small sigh. Jests aside, he had needed to catch his breath.

“I’ll have you know, I was in fact applying to the Bard’s College when I was your age!”

“So you’ll write a damned good song about this ordeal when we get back to Riften, then?” Stebal asked.

“If we ever get back to Riften,” Erandur responded with a small smirk. (Not that he wouldn’t be perfectly fine going anywhere but that city, but the Temple was there, so to Riften he would go.)

With that, the two priests continued down the snowy path. Though he greatly respected his friend and mentor, Erandur was grateful Stebal decided to walk without conversation. After many years of social isolation, the silence that fell over them in the next few seconds was far more comfortable to the dunmer. Ten years past that isolation, and he still wasn’t used to having friends.

Besides, even if they felt hopelessly alone, he could still enjoy the sounds of an early winter afternoon. The cairns started appearing less frequently as the path became less winding. Erandur hoped that meant the main road wasn’t far ahead.

Soon enough, the path became clearer and paving stones appeared under the priests’ feet. The snow had even decided to calm down. They both heaved relieved sigh: they could follow the main road to Riften from there on. The late afternoon sun cut through the clouds, casting long shadows on the light blanket of snow before them. Their easy silence lent itself then to listening for the song sparrows of the region.

Or, they should have been listening to the song sparrows when a high-pitched scream rang out from around a bend in the road. The two priests glanced at each other before running towards the source of the scream.

They reached the scene just in time to watch an injured bandit yank his sword out of a Bosmer woman’s chest. The sound of bone scraping against metal grated against all their senses. A metal dagger clanged against the metal on the cart and hit the ground. The bosmer sagged against the wheel of the covered cart she was trying to defend and remained still. The thief staggered backwards and, grimacing at the lifeless woman’s body, wiped his bloody sword on a fallen horse before glancing up. He seemed to be contemplating whether to loot her body of anything she might have had on her, or just the cart. The thief’s face shifted as he noticed the two priests. He only hesitated a moment before brandishing his sword in front of him.

“You picked a bad time to get lost—”

His next words were cut short as Erandur unleashed a fireball, taking out the thief almost instantly. The dunmer exhaled loudly as Stebal gathered his senses and decided to stop gawking at his friend’s sudden destructive magic and switched his gaze towards the bandit. The fire burning the bandit slowly extinguished itself. Stebal exhaled.

“I forget there are a good many things I don’t know about you, my friend.”

With the threat passed, Erandur and Stebal took the chance to study the scene more carefully. Only about five feet from the cart and the woman, a Bosmer man lay dead next to a second bandit, bow still in his grip, arrows riddled through the bandit and a short knife in the bosmer’s back. It seemed the woman had pulled the dagger as a last-ditch effort to defend their cart. Erandur’s breath caught in his throat as he took in the grisly sight.

The priests glanced at each other, then to the two bosmer. They couldn’t simply leave them there; granted, they didn’t know the rites and rituals as well as the priests of Arkay, but it would have to do. They set about gathering up the bosmer and their stray belongings.

Suddenly, a second scream tore through the air. A chill washed over both of them as they quickly realized that the first scream hadn’t come from the woman, but rather, from under the cart cover. Cautiously, Erandur stepped up to the side of the cart and pulled away the homespun cover. His heart wrenched as he uncovered a baby. She couldn’t have been more than a year old and was wrapped in a finer cloth than either bosmer wore. It seemed they had tucked just behind the driver’s seat to hide her from the bandits. The Dunmer’s sharp features softened as he pulled her out of the cart.

The baby stared up at Erandur as he pulled her closer to him. Even if the snow had stopped falling, it was still far too cold for a baby. Fat tears welled up in her large hickory-colored eyes and dripped down her light umber cheeks, but her scream had subsided to a soft whimper. Brother Stebal crept up next to Erandur and glanced down at the child, then back at his friend. Erandur had become focused almost entirely on the baby, hushing her and rocking her gently, if a bit awkwardly. Stebal smiled sadly but forced himself to consider the practical: this changed their timeline drastically. They would have to change directions, but they could reach the hamlet of Ivarstead by sundown. At least there they could find an inn and a way to feed the child. Ideally, they’d also find someone to send back to the cart to take care of the baby’s family. On that subject…

“Do you think they left any papers?” Stebal wondered out loud, “Maybe a letter, ledgers…” Erandur’s gaze drifted up, mouth setting in a hard line. He hadn’t seen anything on his first scan of the cart, but maybe they just needed to check more carefully.

The priests turned the cart inside out, but they still had no clues about the origin of the Bosmer family, their destination, or even the child’s name; it made the whole situation off-putting, to say the least. Erandur glanced westward. The pink and orange streaked sky was jarringly beautiful compared to the afternoon he and his friend had just experienced. He adjusted his hold on the baby and placed a hand on Stebal’s shoulder.

“We’ll send someone back for them,” he reminded the Nord quietly, “but right now we’re losing daylight.” Stebal bowed his head and whispered a short prayer over the bosmer, then turned back to Erandur and nodded.

“Of course. Let’s get moving,” Stebal agreed, his mood remaining dour.

((--------------))

The inn– the Vilemyr– was welcoming enough, had two rooms available, and fortunately for the priests, a bottle for the baby. Yet midnight had long come and gone, and sleep still evaded Erandur. He shifted carefully, as not to disturb the other side of the bed, where the baby lay on a pillow and, to the best of his knowledge, still stubbornly refused to sleep. (How could an inn that had a baby bottle not have a cradle?)  Erandur exhaled quietly. Maybe if he could convince the child that he had fallen asleep, she would copy him. As the minutes ticked by slowly, he started to believe his plan worked, until—

The baby gave a tired gurgle. So much for that idea. With a long sigh, the dunmer lit a magelight above the bed and pushed himself into a sitting position against the headboard, then pulled the baby over to him and sat her on his chest.

“Now then,” he started, looking directly into her large brown eyes, “Why won’t you fall asleep?” She blinked back and yawned, starting to finally fall asleep. From the moment they arrived at the inn, the child had kept doing this. Whenever someone would try to pull her away from him, she would just start crying all over again.

“Were you just lonely, then?” Erandur asked quietly.

He knew well how it felt to be alone, and he couldn’t fault the child for desperately avoiding it… though he wasn’t entirely sure he approved her methods. As she curled up and began to fall asleep, Erandur suddenly realized something else: he couldn’t just keep calling her “the baby,” she needed a name. And since there was no way of knowing what her family called her…

“What about Oriinthel?” he asked, more to himself than to her. The name had once belonged to a bosmer friend of his; one of the few people at Nightcaller temple who had encouraged him to go to the bard’s college, and who had welcomed him back when he returned. Erandur sagged a bit as he remembered her. He was sure she had died by an orc’s hand before the Miasma was released. Her kindness had given him hope that there could be a future for him. Perhaps, then, if he couldn’t offer his lost friend a future, he could at least ensure her legacy by offering someone else a future.

Ori snuggled closer and exhaled softly. So that was it, he supposed. No turning back. Erandur closed his eyes and breathed out a prayer that he would do what was best for her.

((-------------))

A few of the flowers had grown early this year. Or, maybe in Riften, Sun’s Dawn was just the right time for flowers. He hadn’t paid attention last year. At any rate, they provided distracted Ori enough to give Erandur time to read. Over the last three months, the dunmer and his now-daughter had settled into a morning routine: wake up (before the crack of dawn, by Ori’s command), fumble in the dark for breakfast, then as soon as the soft winter sun fell into the courtyard, explore (or read, by Erandur’s wish) until the child could no longer stay in one area. This morning passed as usual. At least, at first.

Erandur heard soft bootsteps behind him, and closing his book, turned to greet them. Stebal smiled at Ori before meeting Erandur’s gaze. The nord had recently, and unexpectedly, become head priest in the temple. Erandur was proud of his mentor– but understood the enormous pressure he faced.

“I was hoping I’d find you out here,” Stebal said solemnly, “There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.” So it was business that brought him outside. Erandur nodded and pushed himself off the low wall he’d been sitting on, then picked up a mildly protesting Ori from the little ring of mountain flowers she had haphazardly built around herself and followed his mentor into his study. Once they reached the office, Stebal pulled up a chair across from his desk and gestured for Erandur to sit. The dunmer set Ori on the ground to let her wander the downstairs. Stebal cleared his throat.

“I don’t suppose you’ve heard about the project the temple’s working on in Windhelm, have you?” the nord began. Erandur inclined his head slightly.

“The charity house? With Free-Winter…” Erandur trailed off, not sure of the details. Stebal nodded.

“That’s the one. The temple is currently working with Brunwulf Free-Winter, a prominent citizen in Windhelm, to build a– um– a sort of extension of the Temple there. Poor citizens could find food there, and the homeless would have shelter from the bitter cold of the city. A single building, shared between the Grey Quarter and the rest of Windhelm. I know, it’s unprecedented—” Erandur nodded.

“That’s exciting news for the temple. Ambitious, but,” he paused, beginning to worry about the answer to his question,” Why bring this up now? Why to me, specifically?” At that, Stebal drew in a long breath, gathering his thoughts. He absently glanced down to Ori, who stood next to her father’s chair, clinging to his robes, before looking back to Erandur.

“I’ve been thinking about this since Brunwulf approached me with the idea,” he confessed. “We need someone to head this new shelter and I think you’re our best choice.” Erandur stopped short before leaning back fully into the chair. Ori took the opportunity to worm her way into his lap and began to tug at the sleeves of his robe.

“Wh– how?” he asked incredulously, “I can’t be—” Stebal held up a hand to stop him.

“Don’t doubt yourself,” he said with a smile. His voice took a softer note, “I’ve known you for eleven years now. I know where you started from, known your struggles and to see how much you’ve grown, how dedicated you’ve become… none of my students, or my friends, have made me prouder.”

“I picked you because I know you understand what it’s like to feel alone. You understand, better than most, what it’s like to live in pain. You can help those who are hurting in that city.” Stebal paused before adding, “I know you still feel you have a long way to go, much more to learn. Now, I don’t want to send you there if you don’t want to go, but maybe this will be just as helpful to you as it will to them.”

Erandur nodded slowly, but the concern didn’t leave his eyes. His gaze switched from his mentor to the ground in front of him. If he left, he probably couldn’t take much with him, probably not more than a few changes of clothes and some books; he’d have to sell everything else. His thoughts switched away from his practical concerns. It was an honor to be chosen for such a task, but… He let his mind leave the thought unfinished; he suddenly felt more aware of himself, his breathing, his heart beating, his mind grasping for reasons to go, reasons to stay, then— Ori. He hadn’t made a decision like this since he adopted her. He thought back to that first night at the inn, to his prayer to Mara and his promise to Ori. Would a life in Windhelm offer more than Riften? Surely any other city would be better than a life of tip-toeing around the Thieves’ Guild, the Dark Brotherhood, and any other seedy operations that aided the Black-Briar family. Not for the first time in his life, a cold knot settled in his stomach.

“I’ll do it,” he stated as evenly as he could manage. Stebal smiled warmly.

“Thank you, my friend. May Windhelm have everything you need.”


End file.
